Don't Shoot the Spaniard
by toasteroflife
Summary: A modern-day mafia Spamano AU. I have no concrete knowledge of any actual crime/mafia happenings, so just know that this is entirely incorrect and I apologize for any inconsistencies; I'm making it all up myself. Basically, everyone's a big time crime boss and eventually all hell will break lose. Wonderful.
1. Pasta di Pomodora

_Don't let yourself be seen with the cops._ The words rang in his ears as he walked down the street. It was dusk and the air was thick with humidity, adding to his sense of apprehension. He felt like every single civilians' eyes were on him, but of course, that was insane. He didn't attract any attention; he was just panicked.

 _The needs of the family come before the needs of yourself._ He repeated this over and over in his head as he practically flew down the dimly lit alleys and backstreets into a more run-down part of the town. He hadn't been told any details; he only knew that he was supposed to show up at the old auto factory in the south side of town ASAP.

 _Don't go to bars or clubs other than your own._ He was trying. Every bit of him was at attention and his senses were threatening to overwhelm him. The blackness of the night was consuming his vision and he could feel his breath pounding in his lungs and hear his blood rushing in his ears. What he could really use right now was a good drink but it seemed that he really had somewhere to be.

 _You must tell the truth when you are asked to supply information._ In this case, the lack of information he had received was what was causing him so much anxiety. He knew that his brother had been sent out to shut down a smaller organization which was channeling some of their gambling profits away from the bigger picture a few days ago. He couldn't help but worry about his little brother when he went out to do something dangerous; he could be a bit clumsy and naïve at times and of course there was that big brother instinct that told him to protect his younger sibling.

Finally, he came upon the lone, weathered, beaten, generally falling-apart factory. It was completely desolate except for the single man standing outside the doors, barely visible under the cover of night. He narrowed his eyes and subtly felt to make sure his gun was still there, although he did not slow in his approach.

 _There must always be a third person in a meeting with an outsider. No exceptions._ His heart was beating in his throat by the time he reached the man. At first he was on guard, but he recognized the outfit and general demeanor of the man as one of his own. The man locked gazes with him, face showing no emotion whatsoever as he looked up at him from the shadow casted by his fedora.

 _"Pasta di pomodora,"_ he said confidently. The code was really just a formality; everyone affiliated with the organization knew him. It's better to be safe than sorry, but he personally hated the code; it was childish. The man nodded and moved away from the rusting doors, letting him through.

The ceiling was high and it was dark, the smell of rust and decades-old machine grease lingering. He wasn't quite sure where he was supposed to go until he saw another man posted in the doorway to a smaller room away from the main garage. The room's light was on. His nerves were beginning to calm down as he approached. If something bad had happened to his brother, someone would have come to meet him by now. He nodded to the man as he passed, who nodded in return.

He didn't even have the chance to survey the room before he was nearly tackled to the dusty ground. _"Fratello!"_ He choked and shoved his younger brother off of him. He was relieved to see that he was alright. Surely nothing could have gone wrong, but there was no way to stop him from worrying. His brother's proud smile was reflected in his bright amber eyes, leading his gaze to the other occupants of the room.

Their Grandpa was standing off to the side, arms crossed, an easy smirk adorning his visage. "Hello, Lovino. Glad to see you could make it," he greeted, his deep voice rumbling around in his chest.

Lovino raised a hand in greeting before turning to the figure in the center of the room, bound and gagged. "This is our guy?" Lovino asked, voice clear and devoid of emotion.

Feliciano hummed. "It was almost too easy. He was so drunk he barely even noticed us until we had the entire casino surrounded," he chirped.

"There weren't many causalities, either. Most of the townspeople got out, but a few were caught in the crossfire. We didn't lose anybody but they lost about ten," their Grandpa informed. "Feliciano knocked the guy out himself."

"Nice job," Lovino praised, although he wasn't really listening. He was too busy staring down the idiot who thought he could get around the Vargas family. He smirked a little to himself. "What are we going to do with him?"

Roma stepped up behind Lovino and rested a warm hand on his shoulder, pulling his grandson's gun out of the waistband of his pants. "You know."

Lovino took the gun and gazed at it for a moment. He heard the miserable traitor whimper in something that might have been a plea for mercy. A slight glimmer of amusement shone in Lovino's eyes. As if he was getting out of this predicament. "It's really unfortunate," he said quietly, addressing the unground casino proprietor. "I've seen your wife. She's pretty." He made sure the gun was loaded and clicked off the safety. "How sad that she chose to spend her life with _you."_ He smiled as he held the gun level to the man's head. "I doubt you'll be missed."

There was a loud bang and a moment of nothingness as the sound echoed off the metallic walls of the factory before there was soft thud as the man's body fell to the floor. Slowly, blood poured out from his lifeless corpse, staining the dusty grey-brown floor a rich, life-blood red. Lovino scowled. "Fucker should've known better."

Roma laughed heartily. "He _should've_ , but that's a thing of the past." His eyes darted to the body in the center of the room. "You're right; his wife is pretty and he won't be missed."


	2. Sketchy

The Vargas family was one of the most prominent and revered underground crime organizations in Italy, and definitely the biggest one in the southernmost part of the country. You could call it a mafia ―that would be pretty accurate –but they preferred to call it a family, since that's what they were, after all.

It was headed by a seemingly friendly man, Roma Vargas, who had practically built the entire underground empire out of nothing. He was a kind looking man with a bright smile that met his eyes. He seemed generally approachable, like someone's favorite grandfather, a man who gives to charities, one who sings in a church choir and outshines everyone else without meaning to; he did certainly look nice enough, which he was. He just wasn't so much of a good person. He was, after all, the leader of one of the biggest illegal organizations in the entire country of Italy.

With the wealth he made off of being a "bad guy," he had a sizeable mansion that was really much more like a palace. Ordinarily, such a monumental residence would look more than suspicious in a small town such as the one where Roma and his grandsons lived. Ordinarily. While, yes, much of the huge sum of money awarded to the Vargas family did come from money laundering, robbery, and other forms of illegal penny-pinching, the remainder of that money was legitimate. Being a skilled and revered Italian granddad came with its perks; Roma also owned an extremely successful restaurant chain, appropriately dubbed _"Nonno's."_ It served Italian comfort food and was loved by everyone across the country.

Roma was an extremely successful man on multiple fronts, and many of his talents had been passed down to his grandsons. The younger, Feliciano, shared Roma's friendly nature and inviting demeanor. Unlike Roma, he never quite got as serious, but he did know how to handle business. He may seem like a bubbly, happy-go-lucky, average guy, but he was anything but average. He was good at using his aura of happiness to coax information out of people or convince them into working to his advantage. He was fun to be around but was as manipulative as the devil.

To the outside world, Feliciano was nothing but a young artist living under his wealthy grandpa's roof, but underneath his exterior he was a bit of a wildcard. His non-stop smile only makes it more terrifying when he holds the cold barrel of a gun to your forehead.

Then there was Lovino. Lovino _was_ average. He wasn't anything special. His little brother had gotten all the good traits from their Grandpa. He was Roma's second in command but that was really only because he was older and more mature than Feliciano; he wasn't more skilled or more intelligent. He was just lucky in this particular instance. When it all came down to simple terms, Lovino was basically his Grandpa's little errand boy with a big title. Everyone else in the organization had to listen to and respect him, but he was just an anxious, self-loathing mess under a cool mask of indifference.

Which is naturally why he was going out to meet one of their guys (who had previously been doing some work farther up north gaining some information on a Russian drug trafficker) after downing one or three glasses of wine. His face was blank, unreadable, which was good, although it just made him feel like he stood out because everyone else on the street seemed so happy and polite while he felt like vomiting. He was supposed to meet this guy at a small café near the marketplace in the center of town. It was a rather busy (which made it risky) place to meet someone, especially in the middle of the day, but it worked to their advantage since they won't be two guys in a sketchy part of town exchanging information, which was the alternative.

The sun was hot and it beat down on Lovino, angering his anxiety even more. Luckily, he was good at hiding his nerves, so when people he had met before waved to him casually on the street he was able to wave back without collapsing to his knees. The air smelled like baking bread and fresh produce, which normally would have told someone that they were near a market, but Lovino's entire town smelled like that. It was quaint, really; the population was only a few thousand. It was really a bad place to house the headquarters of a huge organization, but Roma could be a tad sentimental at times. He didn't want to leave his hometown and honestly no one could blame him.

Lovino realized he really had no reason to rush and slowed his footsteps to a more leisurely pace. It actually helped to calm him down and allowed him more time to enjoy the day. After he was done with this exchange he should ask Feliciano if he wants to play football, he thought. It was such a lovely day. He was getting lost in nice thoughts about pretty girls and blue skies and picnic baskets and all the things everyone loved when someone caught his eye.

In a small town such as this one, everybody knows everybody. Outsiders stand out to average people, so you can only imagine how much a visitor would stick out to someone trained to know everything about everyone. Lovino's eyes narrowed as the marketplace came into sight. There was someone standing at a vegetable vendor that he hadn't seen before. He didn't stop or even turn his head to get a better look as he came closer, but he kept his eyes trained on them in his peripheral vision.

Dark brown curls, simple clothes, tan skin, nothing extraordinary for someone of a small town, except that he wasn't from the small town. Lovino had never seen this guy around before in his life. As he passed directly by the man, he turned his head a little and Lovino caught a glimpse of the greenest pair of eyes he had seen yet, and he had seen many, many people. He figured that this guy must be new because god knows a pair of eyes like those would've stuck in his mind. He had to remind himself of where he was going in order to keep himself from staring. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and walked quickly to the small café where he was supposed to meet his associate.

The door had a bell that rang as Lovino entered, and as soon as he did, he recognized a man taking a sip of coffee and sat down across from him without drawing attention. The man looked up at him and cracked a polite smile. "Good afternoon," he greeted casually, although his voice was overly quiet.

"Mm," Lovino nodded, crossing his legs. "Glad to see you made it back." He honestly couldn't have cared less about what happened to this guy (he didn't even remember his name) but he had to be cordial. A waiter came around once he noticed that Lovino had arrived and Lovino impatiently ordered a coffee as well.

Once the customary greetings were exchanged, the other man frowned slightly. Lovino sat up a bit straighter and furrowed his eyebrows; a frown was definitely not a good sign. "I don't actually have what you're looking for," he started.

"What the hell do you mean by that?" Lovino cut in, his voice low and gravely. The other man shifted uncomfortably.

"We _do_ have what you're looking for ― _I_ just don't have it. I'm a messenger," he explained. Lovino settled a bit as the man pulled a business card out of his shirt pocket, sliding it across the table to him. "Meet this guy at six o'clock this evening at the address on the card. He'll tell you. We didn't want to risk anything in such a public place."

Lovino hummed in agreement. "It was a poor choice to meet in such an open location," he muttered, slipping the card into his own pocket after glancing it over quickly. "I'll be there."

The man nodded. "Good. Now, excuse me. I'll be taking my leave." He stood up and quickly paid for his coffee before bolting out the door. It seemed like Lovino was going to be having a stereotypical, sketchy-looking, dimly-lit-alleyway meeting anyway.

The Italian stretched and took a sip of his coffee, watching the marketplace around him out the window. He was lost in his thoughts, wondering about what information the man was able to acquire, what he was going to have for dinner, who that new guy in the marketplace was. New people weren't a very common occurrence in a small town such as this one.

Regardless, he absentmindedly doodled on his napkin with a pen. He didn't really have anything to do until he was supposed to meet with that guy, so he figured he might as well stay at the café and enjoy his coffee and pretend like the idea of having to do even more business today didn't make him want to vomit. He sighed as the café bustled around him, blissfully unaware of his internal turmoil.


	3. Stone Pavers

After lounging around that small café for an hour or so, Lovino decided that he might as well waste his time at home. When he said "home," he might as well have meant "castle," because god _damn_ was his Grandpa's house huge. It looked like a mini version of the Palace of Versailles, with huge grounds, gardens that look like something straight out of a catalogue, a huge fence surrounding the entire property, and even an ornate fountain right in the center of the drive.

Lovino thought it was a bit much.

He didn't mind living so lavishly, not at all, but he didn't think all the grandeur was necessary. Roma could just as easily have gotten a really nice house instead of a fucking castle. Feliciano, on the other hand, loved it. He was a bit like a child set free in a candy store; his amazement never ceased when he gazed at the wide halls and fancy satin curtains and pretty maids, while Lovino, on the other hand, preferred to stay locked up in his room. Unfortunately, responsibility demanded that he left the comfort and relative safety of his bedroom every so often to go threaten somebody with a gun or demand money from a lying drug dealer. All normal things.

Since he really, really, didn't want to go out again today, Lovino had gotten the seal of approval to take Feliciano with him to the gathering of intelligence meeting that evening. When the time rolled around to leave, he heaved a heavy sigh and crept out of his bedroom. He walked down the hall of his Grandpa's mansion, his footsteps echoing off the high ceilings, in the general direction of noise, which had to be where his idiot brother was.

"Feliciano, let's go," he said as soon as his brother came into his line of sight. The younger Italian turned around from where he was seated on a plush looking loveseat to face his brother. Feliciano gently brushed the sleeping cat on his lap off of him before he stood up with a bright smile.

"Is it time already?" he asked, glancing at his watch, and seeing that yes, it was time to go if they wanted to meet the guy on time. Feliciano stretched and shoved the gun that had been lying casually on an end table into the waistband of his pants. Lovino narrowed his eyes. Feliciano always was a bit too laid-back. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

Lovino rolled his eyes and walked with his brother out of Roma's mansion. He climbed in the driver's seat of one of his Grandpa's many cars after denying Feliciano over and over the right to drive, which would be why he was pouting in the passenger's seat while Lovino drove them to their destination.

As they passed people walking down the streets, Lovino was reminded of the man he saw earlier that afternoon. "Hey, Feli, do you know if there's anyone new to town?" he asked suddenly, casting a quick glance to his younger sibling.

Feliciano raised an eyebrow. "Someone new in town? I haven't really noticed; why do you ask? Well, I guess there could be someone new because I haven't gotten the chance to walk around recently, but I like to think that I would know because I know almost everyone, but–"

Lovino rolled his eyes. "Shh. Never mind, Feliciano." He should've known better in asking. Feliciano had a tendency to run on and get a little off-topic, and Lovino wasn't even completely sure that the guy from earlier was new.

Either way, they were coming up on the street where they needed to park. Lovino parked the car outside a relatively vacant bookstore and waited for Feliciano to get out. Since they didn't want to draw attention to the meeting spot, they had parked a few blocks away, making them have to walk the rest of the way there.

By the time they reached a guy in a disheveled looking suit, the sky had dimmed significantly and the air had chilled quite a bit. _"Fratello,_ it's cold," Feliciano complained, rubbing his arms to warm up a bit. Lovino told him to shut up and walked up to the guy. _"Ciao,_ Alfonso!" Feliciano greeted cheerily, making Lovino roll his eyes yet again.

The man smiled softly. "Hello, Feliciano," he replied, turning to Lovino. "We have some information to discuss."

"We do," Lovino agreed, subtly kicking Feliciano in an effort to get him to shut the hell up. He stood up straighter and crossed his arms. "So, tell me about this Russian fucker."

Alfonso cracked an amused smile at Lovino's particular word choice. "Well," he started. "First off, we're not the only people he's cheated. He's kind of got a reputation for taking money and getting the hell out of the country, although no one's really been able to track him down. He's on a lot of people's bad sides, but unfortunately he's been able to remain anonymous so no one's had the chance to give him what he deserves."

Lovino frowned. "If no one knows who he is then why are we even here?"

This is where Alfonso chuckled softly. "No one knew who he was until now." At this, Lovino's stance relaxed slightly. "He's got many nicknames across all of Europe, but his actual name is–" He cut off, listening. "What was that?"

Lovino furrowed his eyebrows. He heard it too; it sounded like someone had accidentally kicked a rock. These older streets were paved in stone, but were worn and cracked and since no one really used them the town hadn't decided to repave them. The pavement broke off in certain parts of the streets, making it easy to trip or accidentally nudge a stone out of place. All three Italian men froze in place and no more sounds were heard, not even their breathing.

Then, silently, Lovino crept to the end of the street corner. With his back pressed up against the wall, he peeked around the corner. The alleyway was barely lit, dark shadows stretching out into the middle of the street from anything and everything possible, which made it all that much harder to find the source of the noise. Luckily for Lovino, he was used to looking around in the dark. The shadows provided ample hiding spots, but the person had dared not move, so after a few moments of searching Lovino was able to find them.

He cracked his neck and stepped out into the alleyway, eyes locked on the person, who flinched when they saw that they had indeed been caught. Lovino smirked a little and strode forward confidently, and before they had a chance to bolt, he kicked them down onto the street. They made to scramble away but Lovino kept them down with a foot to the chest. His eyes quickly scanned over their form for any weapons and once he saw a very gun-like shaped outline in their pocket, he moved so that he was straddling the person's chest, legs pinning down their arms.

The person's eyes widened and when they opened their mouth to speak (presumably to whimper and beg for their life like people tended to) Lovino shoved the barrel of his gun down their throat to keep them quiet. "Thought you could eavesdrop on us, huh, bastard? Doesn't seem like such a good idea, now, does it? What the hell were you doing and who the fuck are you?" Lovino snarled as they choked on the weapon which had been so politely crammed into their mouth. Tears were brought to their eyes as they struggled to fight against their natural gag reflex and Lovino recognized their overly bright green color.

He removed the gun from their mouth and instead pressed it against their cheek, repeating his question, now more curious than angry. They did not respond, even with their newly vacated mouth. Lovino pressed the gun even further into the man's cheek with a frustrated scowl, repeating himself one last time.

"I'm giving you one fucking chance to say something before I decorate this street with your brains," he threatened, staring intently into those green eyes. He began to slightly squeeze the trigger to show that he was deadly serious.

Just as Lovino was about to pull the trigger, the man coughed a bit and shot him an easy smile. _"Hola,"_ he said, plain and simple. For about half a second, Lovino was taken aback. First of all, this guy had a goddamn _gun_ pressed into his face and he was tossing out a causal greeting, and second, he gave a Spanish greeting in a strictly Italian-speaking town. After he recovered from his initial shock, Lovino nudged the guy with his gun.

"Tell me exactly what the fuck you think you were doing eavesdropping on us." Lovino could tell by now that this guy was definitely part of some crime organization and it certainly wasn't Lovino's own. After a few moments of silence from the guy, he sighed and removed the gun from the man's cheek, although Lovino kept it pressed to his forehead. "Feli," Lovino called, sounding tired. "Call Grandpa."

The man fucking smiled.


	4. His Name Is Braginski

His foot tapped impatiently against the smooth marble floor. Lovino was leaning up against a small table that really served no purpose, while his brother sat cross-legged on an extremely plush chair, absentmindedly petting his cat who had crawled into his lap. The sound Lovino's shoe made as it came in contact with the floor was the only noise besides the cat's purring for a very long time.

He had called his Grandpa, asking what he should do when he had pinned the man down in the alleyway, and was told to bring him back to the house. Alfonso had come with them and filled Lovino in completely in a room separate from the intruder. The information didn't mention much in the way of the situation being in the Vargas' favor, but Lovino was still glad to have the intel.

It turns out that the drug-dealing scammer was a Russian man by the name of Ivan Braginski. Braginski, as in the most elite crime family in the entire country of Russia, but apparently the man himself wasn't very well received within the family, which was probably because he had quite a temper and had maybe killed a few dozen of their men. He had many aliases all across Europe and certainly a few nicknames, including the Devil, the Antichrist, and more lovely satanic names along those lines. Supposedly he had even managed to make a name for himself in the United States.

Lovino was just contemplating the idea of calling their American contacts overseas and asking them if they had any more information on the guy when his Grandpa finally showed up. Lovino and Feliciano both immediately stood, much to the dismay of the cat which had been previously curled up in the youngest Italian's lap. Roma had his business face on, which was enough to make even his own grandsons squirm. Although he was mildly uncomfortable under his Grandpa's scrutiny, Lovino was glad that he had come in at last to address the elephant in the room.

An elephant which was really much less like an elephant and much more like a man in the middle of the floor, bound and gagged. Roma said nothing to his grandsons as he walked past them to stand directly in front of the captured man. He paused for a moment, his deep amber eyes dark, before he knelt down in front of him and untied the handkerchief used as a gag. The silence in the room prevailed until the green-eyed man smiled and said, _"Hola, Signor Roma."_

After another few moments of silence, Roma returned the smile. "So we meet again, Antonio," Roma replied. Lovino and Feliciano shared a confused look.

 _"Nonno,_ you know this man?" Lovino asked, crossing his arms. Roma turned to look at him and chuckled.

"Of course I do." Roma walked around behind the man, apparently named Antonio, and cut through the cloth bindings that held his arms behind his back. "I am the head of the Vargas household, you know." Lovino caught a glimpse of a mischievous sparkle in his Grandpa's eyes. "The correct question is, how do _you,_ my second-in-command, _not_ know who this is?"

He was dumbstruck. He didn't know how to respond; he simply gazed at his Grandpa and tried to form a coherent answer to his question. His composure was starting to deteriorate rapidly when his Grandpa laughed at him.

"Don't think about it too hard, Lovino. It was a trick question." Lovino huffed and looked away, mildly annoyed. Roma stretched a bit and turned back to Antonio. "This is Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo, the recently named leader of the Spanish mafia. Neither of you have any reason to know who he is; Spain's kingdom of underground crime hasn't been very prevalent until recently, when Antonio assumed his leadership position."

Feliciano nodded and smiled in understanding while Lovino frowned. "That's nice and all, but what about him spying on our private meeting with Alfonso?" Lovino inquired, still not really over the intrusion.

Roma was about to reply as Antonio interrupted, an easy smile across his face even though he was technically in rival custody. "We needed information, and you have it. You can't really blame me, can you?"

Lovino was really starting to hate this guy. "I wasn't talking to you." He glared at the Spanish man before turning his gaze over to his Grandpa. "You're not just going to let him walk away, are you?"

His Granpda shrugged. "We don't currently have negative relations with Spain and there's really no reason to start any. What am I going to do, keep him here? We have more important issues than dealing with a non-hostile member of the Spanish crime community, for instance, using that information you received after capturing Antonio, here?"

He felt sufficiently reprimanded and he was vaguely aware of his face heating up in response. Lovino didn't like to look like an idiot, especially not to his Grandpa. He wanted to be a good second-in-command and prove himself worthy of eventually taking over as head of the family.

"Being tackled hurts, you know." The comment from the newcomer brought Lovino back from his little reverie of shame.

He scowled. "How about I shove my gun back down your throat and actually pull the trigger? _That_ would hurt," Lovino snapped.

"Lovino, don't shoot the Spaniard," Roma sighed.

"Yeah, no promises," he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. "It's late; I'm going to go to bed. Don't bother me unless Feli's dying." With that, he stormed out of the room much like an angsty teenager.

He locked himself in his room like he so often did and decided that he might as well review a little of the information he had received before he went to sleep. It seemed as if they had tracked down this Braginski guy, but at no point did Alfonso state his location. Lovino figured that since the Russian had fucked so many people over, there would be many more people looking for him than just his little section of Italy (and apparently Spain). There would be a lot of issues if/when word got out about Braginski's real name and current location.

Lovino sighed. There were many times, such as these, where he wished that he could have been anybody else. He didn't like having so many responsibilities and he certainly didn't enjoy the constant danger of the job. He sat down on the corner of his bed and tried not to think about the events of earlier that evening, to no avail.

He hadn't wanted to go meet Alfonso, but he didn't really have a choice. He only tackled Antonio because he had to, but once he had, he was moderately proud of himself for pinning down someone bigger than him with practically no struggle. When Antonio was brought in, somewhere in the back of his mind, he had hoped that his Grandpa would give him somesort of praise, but he had received some subtle humiliation instead.

Another sigh escaped him as he laid back on the bed. His Grandpa hadn't been entirely clear on what he was going to do with the Spaniard, either. He wanted nothing more than to curl up and die, but he knew that he would have to wake up and continue the pursuit of Ivan Braginski in the morning, presumably with more difficulty than before due to Antonio's presence.

Suddenly, the activities of the day hit Lovino all at once. He barely had the strength to keep his eyes open as he kicked off his shoes, rolling over and settling into the bed, still in the clothes he had worn all day. He wondered vaguely how many other people his family would have to compete for Braginski with before he drifted off to sleep.


	5. Why Me?

Lovino awoke to the sound of a screaming feline. He moaned and rubbed his eyes before he sat up, glancing around his room sleepily. He arched his back as he stretched, yawning widely, and stood up to let the screeching cat in his room. His brother's pet ran into his room happily as Lovino sighed. Judging by the amount of light streaming through the windows, he had slept in pretty late. He figured that he hadn't missed anything important since no one came in to wake him, although the idea that he hadn't been woken because he wasn't wanted crossed his mind.

By the time he had gotten showered, dressed, and made generally presentable, it was past noon. He found his Grandpa looking over some papers, lounging on a sofa, but Feliciano and their, ah, visitor from the previous night were nowhere to be seen. _"Buongiorno,"_ Lovino greeted, a bit surprised to find that his voice was raw and scratchy. He supposed he had yelled a bit the day before.

"Good morning, Lovino," Roma replied, although he did not turn around. "I hope you slept well?"

"Yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "So, ah, where is Feliciano?"

At this, Roma put his papers down and turned to study his grandson quietly for a moment. "Feli's out." He provided no more information.

Lovino's stomach began to twist in anxiety. It suddenly occurred to him that the usually bustling house was incredibly quiet. There were no maids or random associates about. Feliciano wasn't home and his Grandpa was acting strange. Lovino was beginning to feel as if he had made a mistake. When the house was this desolate, there was always serious business to discuss. "Is something wrong?" His voice was quiet and he had to fight to keep it from shaking.

Roma did not smile or frown or give him any indication of how he was feeling. Lovnio didn't very much appreciate his Grandpa's business face, but he couldn't really complain. He may be his grandson, but he was also his subordinate. After a few more minutes of Roma's analysis, he spoke. "I want you to go with the group to track down Braginski."

His blood ran cold. Lovino could only pretend that he wasn't terrified so well. Underneath his calm mask and collected actions, he was a coward. He could much rather run than fight, and he had heard stories about this Braginski man. There was a reason he was referred to as the Devil.

Roma gauged his grandson's reaction for a half-second before continuing. "There are rumors of him passing through the northern part of Italy. You are to go there and, hopefully, capture this Russian. You will go with a few of our men from around here. Feliciano will stay with me. You will contact me every day at seven AM and update me on the situation. You will go to Seborga and meet our cousin Sebastian there, who will join you and help capture Braginski. You will do as I say exactly and return here with our traitor."

Lovino swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded once. "Y-yes sir."

"You will leave tonight with Alfonso and a few others. Oh, and Antonio will be accompanying you." Before Lovino could stutter out some opposition, his Grandpa cut him off. "There is no logical reason why we shouldn't. It would be good for the relationship between us and we can always use allies. He is skilled and wiser than he seems, so you _will_ get along with him and respect his input. You need to remember that you are the leader of this mission, however, and in the end, it must be Italy who claims Braginski's life."

Lovino sighed in defeat and instead decided to divert the topic away from the Spaniard. "Why isn't Feliciano coming?"

"Because he does not need to," Roma stated simply. "I wouldn't want to waste all of our resources in one place and he can be put to use elsewhere."

"If you don't want to waste all of your resources, then why send me?"

At this, Roma actually laughed, much to Lovino's confusion. "My dear boy, you are far more important than you perceive yourself to be. You underestimate your abilities. You are one of my best. I trust you with this mission, so don't let me down."

His heart raced as he received rare praise from his Grandpa, although he didn't think that what he said was entirely true. They had much better men than him and being told that he was the best would only add more pressure to the mission. "Why so many people for only one man?"

Roma scoffed. "When we learned he had been disowned from the official house of Braginski, no one ever said that he was alone." The man sighed. "He's got a small army of his own, full of skilled men to rival our own, if not better, unfortunately. I have met the man. He isn't one you want to oppose."

Lovino nodded again, fear now running through his veins like ice. _"Nonno…_ are you sure I can do this?"

He smiled. "I raised you well. I trust you, Lovino."

A frown appeared across Lovino's visage. "I hope your trust is well placed, sir."

"I'm confident that it is."

Before Lovino had the chance to have a mental breakdown, Antonio walked into the room, a bright and cheery smile on his face. _"Buenos días, Signore Roma._ Good morning, Lovino," he greeted.

 _"Buongiorno,_ Antonio," Roma replied, returning the smile. "I was just filling Lovino in on the mission."

Antonio nodded. "I hope you are up for the challenge?"

Lovino scowled. "Of course I am, who do you take me for?"

The older Italian man sighed. "Ah, Lovino, as combative as ever."

Antonio chuckled. "All I am saying is that it's going to be difficult. Trust me, I did not mean to offend you."

"Whatever," Lovino shot back. "You said we don't leave until tonight?" Roma nodded. "Good. I don't need to be in _his―"_ he shot a meaningful glare at the Spaniard. "―presence for any longer than necessary."

The Spanish man pouted. "That's a bit rude. Why don't you like me? You don't even know me."

"I don't like anyone," Lovino muttered, crossing his arms, his glare unwavering.

"Your Grandpa likes me."

"That doesn't mean _I_ have to."

"Lovino," Roma cut in sharply. "Do you remember what I told you earlier?"

He huffed. "Yes. I have to be all nice and fake and pretend to get along with this bastard. Why can't you just send Feli, instead? He's more sociable."

The older man rolled his eyes. "Because Feliciano isn't ready for this sort of mission. I need you on this, Lovino, whether you like it or not. You need to learn to get along with others."

Antonio smiled. "I'm not going to bite, I swear. I'm looking forward to working with you, Lovino."

Lovino said nothing for a few moments. "It sounds weird when you pronounce my name with a Spanish accent," was all he said. The Spaniard laughed. "What's so funny, bastard?"

Antonio's green eyes sparkled with amusement. "I think I am going to enjoy working with you."

He flipped him off.


	6. Curiosity Killed the Cat

Lovino was antsy, to say the least. He never really liked to sit still when he was stressed out, and a five-hour train ride definitely did not help to settle his nerves. He knew that nothing would really happen until the next day when they arrived in Seborga, which should have been reassuring, but it only added apprehension to the matter at hand.

The matter at hand being the capture of Ivan Braginski. Lovino had seen entire groups of men killed in _less_ threatening situations. If he didn't know better, he would have said that his Grandpa sent them all out here to die. His eyebrows furrowed in thought. This was really a matter that should have the head of the family working on it himself. Although Roma had ten years on most of the association's members, he was easily the most skilled, collected, and efficient of them all. If Braginski was truly as formidable an opponent as he was made out to be, Lovino and his company were going to need all the help they could get.

Apparently his inner feelings of discontent were showing on his exterior, because when he finally snapped out of his thoughts, he noticed a very concerned looking face directly in front of in his. "Lovino?" Antonio repeated, waving a hand in front of his face.

"W-What?" Lovino asked, shaking his head a bit to clear his head. "What the hell are you doing? Get out of my face."

At this, Antonio leant back and chuckled. "Sorry, you spaced out for a while. You looked troubled."

"I'm fine, leave me alone."

"I don't really think that's possible," Antonio remarked, standing up to his full height in the small train car. "This isn't exactly the most spacious arrangement."

As much as Lovino hated to admit it, he had a point. The train car was pretty small. Thankfully, his company had it all to themselves, but it was still pretty packed, what with five of them being crammed into such a small space. "Would you rather sit out with a bunch of strangers?" Lovino snapped.

The Spaniard smiled at him. "Relax, Lovino. I wasn't complaining; I was merely stating that there isn't much room to give you space in here."

"Whatever." Lovino crossed his arms as Antonio resumed his seat across from him. The other man picked up a newspaper and began to absentmindedly flip through the pages while Lovino studied him for a moment. The man seemed so carefree and kind; not one who should be the leader of an entire country's mafia, although Lovino supposed the same could be said about his Grandpa. He knew not to judge a book by its cover. He was quiet for a few more moments until he couldn't stand it anymore. "Hey, uh, Carriedo."

Antonio looked up at him from behind his newspaper and smiled. _"Sí?"_

"You seem pretty young to be the head of a mafia. If you don't mind, ah, why are _you_ the leader?"

Lovino saw a mixture of emotions flash across Antonio's face for a split second before he answered: "My older brother used to be the leader, although he mainly stayed in Portugal, which is partially why Spain's underground community hasn't been very important for a while. That, and he actively didn't want anything to do with it." The Spaniard frowned. "He was shot and killed about three years ago in an assassination gone wrong. I suppose it was for the best."

The Italian frowned. When it was put like that, it sounded like he wanted his brother to die.

His train of thought was cut off by Antonio's abrupt laughter. "No, I didn't kill him, if that is what you're thinking. Stepping up was the furthest thing I wanted at the time. Would you like to take over for your Grandpa at twenty-two?"

Lovino shook his head. That was the age he was now and he was nowhere _near_ ready to accept any more responsibility than that which was already given to him.

Antonio shrugged. "I've been able to do a lot since then." His green eyes twinkled. "And I'm sure adding Ivan Braginski to my list of achievements won't hurt, either."

His eyes narrowed. Lovino remembered what his Grandpa had said; working with Antonio would be a great idea and advantage up until the point of actually claiming Braginski. He was supposed to be nice and friendly and happy to help Spain, but when it came to their prize, Lovino was to take Braginski in as his own. "Mm," he hummed.

The younger man glanced out the window. It was dark, and the moon reflected off the surrounding fields. The scenery caught his artistic eye and he found himself yet again wishing to be anyone else. He still couldn't believe that he was put up to this task; Lovino wasn't overly skilled or experienced. The thought of a gunfight terrified him and his anxiety had been steadily eating at him more with each second that passed. He didn't really know anyone else in the car with him as _people_ and he wouldn't know any of the people they meet in Seborga at all, besides his cousin. Unfamiliar people, unfamiliar places, and a psychotic Russian to capture. All good for releasing stress.

He was on the precipice of a mental breakdown when Antonio spoke up. "Why is your brother not accompanying us?"

Lovino scoffed. Everyone always asked about Feliciano. Feliciano _was_ the nicer, friendlier, more skilled, and generally better-liked sibling, but that didn't stop Lovino from being bitter every time someone asked about him. Of course he loved his little brother, but sometimes he felt like people didn't see Lovino himself at all. "What does it matter?" he snapped, a hint of his underlying anger laced into his voice.

The Spaniard raised an eyebrow. "I was only making conversation," he responded calmly.

"I don't give a fuck about what you were trying to do. Don't talk about Feli."

He looked a bit taken aback. Lovino felt a little bad, but not enough to apologize. "Well then, I heard we were meeting a cousin of yours, yes?"

Lovino sighed loudly. "What is your obsession with my family memebers?"

"I'm trying to get a feel for who you are, that is all." Antonio smiled easily at him. The man smiled too much.

"Cut it out. You don't need to know anything about me personally."

He pouted rather childishly. "I know that, Lovino. I'm just curious."

"There's a whole saying about curiosity. The one where the cat dies? That'll be you if you keep this inquisition up."

"But the satisfaction brought it back." Antonio finished the saying with a charming smile.

Lovino glared. "How much longer until our stop?"

Antonio checked his watch. "Almost four hours."

The Italian groaned and held his head in his hands. "Great, four more hours of hell."


	7. Pleasure to Work With You

Unfortunately, the train didn't run straight to Seborga. When Lovino and his associates climbed off the train at some ungodly hour in the morning, they had to find somewhere to stay until the next day, when they would travel to Seborga by car. Lovino wasn't too thrilled at the prospect of renting a room at some cheap motel, but the promise of sleep dulled out his annoyance.

While they certainly had the money for something fancier, the group chose a rather run-down hotel to avoid attracting attention. They had rented two rooms, and Lovino was barely aware of any decisions that were being made as they all clamored into their designated rooms. He really only remembered thinking that it was a bad idea to be so tired if he was supposed to be the leader of the group and his vague annoyance upon realizing that he would be sharing a room with the Spaniard before he passed out.

When he woke up, it was a little before six in the morning. He was _beyond_ irritated to find that the ringing in his head actually belonged to an alarm that Antonio had set. Lovino sat up to glare at the green-eyed man (still tangled up in his blankets) in the bed next to his. When he didn't wake up to shut the alarm off, Lovino threw a pillow at him. "Oi, bastard!"

With a groan, Antonio rolled over and sat up. His dark curls were messier than Lovino had seen them yet, and normally bright green eyes, dulled from sleep, blinked at the Italian for a few seconds before he came to his senses and turned off the alarm. Slowly, a sleepy smile stretched across the Spaniard's face, to which Lovino glared. _"Buenos días,_ Lovino," he yawned out in greeting, stupid smile never fading.

After a few moments spent wondering how the hell someone could possibly manage to be so cheery this early in the morning, Lovino slid out of bed. He saw that, once again, he had neglected to change before falling asleep and sighed. He thought about trying to take better care of himself before dismissing the notion; he had more important things to do. He took a change of clothes and disappeared into the small bathroom before Antonio had even untangled himself from the sheets.

When he reemerged, he found a fully-dressed Spanish man waiting for him, much to his surprise. Lovino raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn't react, instead opting to strap on his gun holster, hastily shoving in a handgun after checking to make sure that the safety was on. He said nothing as he replaced his suit jacket and straightened his tie. Antonio flashed yet another smile before he led the way to the door, where they found the rest of Lovino's men waiting in the hallway for them.

"Let's go," Lovino said, and they walked out of the hotel.

* * *

They had taken two cars to Seborga. The three-hour ride with Alfonso was quiet and awkward as hell, and Lovino couldn't have been more glad when it was over. Seborga was pretty, from what Lovino could remember from his past visits, but they had no time to stop and sightsee. They stood in an alley in a rather run-down part of town. Although the day had just begun, the alleys were dark and the shadows were long, providing just enough cover for the men at first glance.

Lovino had called his Grandpa during the car ride at exactly seven AM, as promised, and filled him in on their progress towards Seborga. Roma told him to be careful, as there were other sections of Italian mafia in the north that weren't exactly on good terms with the Vargas family. Of course, Lovino already knew this, but he promised his Grandpa that he would be extra cautious to placate the man, as well as promising to say hello to Sebastian for him. He rolled his eyes as he recalled the memory.

He snapped back to reality when he noticed the figure of a man approaching casually. At first, Lovino wasn't sure, but when men started to join from shadows and creaky doors and adjacent alleys he was sure. The two groups of men analyzed each other carefully for a full minute. No one smiled and no one breathed. The midday sun beat down on them relentlessly, even in the cover of shadow, but no one shifted. After what felt like decades, a rather slight, green-eyed young man grinned. _"Buongiorno,_ Lovino!" he greeted cheerily, rocking on the balls of his feet.

Lovino did not return the smile nor the greeting. Instead, he crossed his arms and took his cousin in fully. He was a few years younger than him and a few inches shorter, although they shared the same olive green eyes and unruly curl. His overall demeanor reminded him very much of his brother, who would have certainly thrown himself at the smaller brunet by now. "Hello, Sebastian," he replied finally.

"I'm glad that you made it, _cugino."_ He paused a moment to look Lovino's men over. "It seems like you've come prepared. Do you mind introducing them to me?"

Lovino internally scoffed; names weren't important. He relented, nevertheless, impatiently turning to his spread of underlings. He gestured to an older man, probably in his forties. "Alfonso Bianchi." Sebastian waved and smiled to Alfonso, who returned a tiny, unsure smile. Finding this ridiculous, he hurried. He nodded to a tall, muscular man with a rather plain face and introduced him as Rizzo and a worn man with an unshaven face as Francesco Moretti. Antonio introduced himself with a friendly smile to rival Lovino's cousin's wide grin. Before Sebastian could begin with the unnecessary introduction of his group, Lovino cut him off. "Is it wise to be meeting in such an open area?"

Sebastian frowned a little. "No, it isn't, which is why we're going to go inside that lovely little apartment complex there," he explained, pointing to a damn-near condemnable building. Lovino wrinkled his nose in distaste but supposed it would do the job. He let Sebastian take the lead and followed him inside the old building quickly and quietly.

After taking a few moments to settle in what might have once been the dining room of a creaky apartment, Lovino spoke up. "When I heard that you had obtained the whereabouts of an internationally wanted cheating drug dealer, I have to say, I didn't believe what I was told. Let's hope you don't disappoint."

The younger Italian smirked. "I don't believe I will." He cracked his knuckles and took a seat in an old chair that looked ready to snap at any second. "Ivan Braginski."

The Russian's name hung heavy in the air for a few moments, sinking into the pulse of every man present. The very name brought fear to anyone who heard it, no matter how brave he was. Everyone knew what this man was capable of. What this man was transcended his title of drug trafficker; he was the devil incarnate. He struck fear into the hearts of men with every breath the took. He cheated and manipulated the organizations of entire countries with mere words. He was possibly the most wanted, most anonymous man in all of Europe, and his location was worth more than all the money in the world.

"The man is very close by. He's passing through the Italian border into France, although he is currently still on the far side of our location. He will be in Vallebona by tomorrow evening, which is about half an hour from here. He has a meeting with one of our rival families in the back of a mafia-controlled cantina at midnight."

Lovino nodded. "Then we will be there as well. But," he frowned. "If this cantina has been claimed by a rival family, how are we supposed to infiltrate without being stopped beforehand?"

This was where Sebastian laughed. "That won't be an issue. There aren't many _mafiosi_ in Vallebona." His green eyes darkened. "No one besides us will be making it to the cantina, and Braginski wouldn't know the difference. He's had no prior meeting with them face-to-face, nor has he met anyone here, so he would have no reason to suspect foul play."

"So you'll take care of them."

"They won't be an issue," he agreed.

Lovino cracked a small smile. "Well then, I'm sure it will be a pleasure to work with you, _cugino."_

Sebastian beamed.


	8. Blood Turned to Ice

Waiting for Ivan Braginski's arrival in Vallebona was absolute hell. Everyone held themselves together, of course, but the twenty hours they had to wait were stagnant and stale. The air that they breathed was laced with an undertone of uncontrollable fear. No one really made conversation and no one mentioned the very real possibility of anything and everything going wrong. Even though everyone's face was apathetic and empty, Lovino was able to tell that his and Sebastian's men alike were gripped with paralyzing fear.

Everyone except for his cousin and his Spanish company. They chatted away aimlessly, talking about anything from a friendly cat they had seen walking carelessly down the street to the structure of the Seborgan branch of the Vargas family. Currently, they were all sitting in the penthouse suite of a very nice hotel that Sebastian owned, discussing how the hotel came to be. Sebastian told Antonio that his hotel was similar to Roma's restaurant chain, in that it covered up a lot of inconsistencies in the way of large amounts of money. Most of the Seborgan Vargas empire's business took place in the hotel, and the staff was made up almost exclusively of the family members of the men who worked for Sebastian.

Lovino thought about how it was actually an efficient system and wondered if he should suggest doing something similar to his Grandpa if he came back. The thought then made his blood turn to ice; _if_ he returned to his Grandpa, and his little brother, and his pretty little village in southern Italy. It hadn't been addressed at all, save for the actual plans concerning the meeting later, but the Braginskis were incredibly dangerous people. The family on its own was one of the most feared and venerated crime organizations in the entire world, but Ivan himself was a different story. He was such a danger that he had been cast out of the family; he was far, far worse. His heart skipped a beat as he noticed the hand that had been absentmindedly cleaning his favorite pistol was trembling slightly. He needed to get his shit together.

He checked his watch and saw that it was about time to get moving. He stood up from the plush armchair where he had been sitting for the past hour and a half, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. He cleared his throat awkwardly before announcing, "It's time to go."

Antonio glanced at his own watch before nodding and standing as well. Lovino rolled his eyes and waited for everyone to rise from their seats. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and gazed at Sebastian expectantly. "I sent out my men one hour ago to stop the local _mafiosi._ They should have gotten all of them, but on the off chance that something went wrong, shoot first and ask questions later. We can worry about a gang fight after this is over," the younger Italian man said.

Lovino nodded. "Let's visit a nice cantina in Vallebona then, shall we?"

* * *

The streets of Vallebona were eerie, to say the least. At this time of night, sketchy-looking men should be roaming the streets in _any_ town, not to mention a mafia-ridden village, but the streets of the little Italian town were desolate. It was quiet and empty and dark and cold and Lovino pretended like he wasn't about to fall to his knees on the curb and wretch his guts out.

The cantina was quiet, but it wasn't deserted. Sebastian glanced to the bartender, who was now one of his own men, and nodded slightly. Lovino and his cousin shared a glance before they split up. Sebastian and about half of their collective men walked confidently past the bar and through a door which led to the rear storage room while Lovino and the rest of the lot ordered drinks and took seats. After waiting fifteen minutes, they followed Sebastian into the back room.

The room was poorly lit. The floor was bare concrete and the walls were unpainted. It was cold, dusty, and empty except for the actual racks of alcohol and other things that a cantina storage room was intended to hold. Lovino was quite impressed to find that the room was barren; it meant that Sebastian's group had succeeded in hiding themselves.

He glanced back to his spread of men, about seven in total. He nodded to them and they scattered, concealing themselves in various spots around the room. Lovino, however, stayed in the open, taking a seat on an old wooden crate.

The Italian was hyperaware of his surroundings. He could feel the metal handcuffs burning in his pocket and the pistol in his holster. He could hear his own breath and feel his quickened heartbeat throbbing in his chest. He could feel the strands of brown hair that fell around his ears. He could smell the dust and failure to keep the room clean. He could see the door to the main room of the cantina directly in front of him. He was aware of every single possible aspect of the room, which is why his heart stopped and lungs imploded when he heard footsteps behind him and a soft voice that simply said, "Zdravstvujtye."

Lovino decided to not think about how the man could have possibly arrived without him noticing, and instead took a deep breath. As he exhaled, he forced himself to his feet and turned around. There, in front of him, stood an incredibly tall man. He was blond, had deep violet eyes, and a long scarf that covered the lower half of his face, although the Italian could tell that the man was smiling just slightly.

He had an aura. The room seemed to have darkened and decreased in temperature. If Lovino had ever been scared before, it was nothing compared to the bone-deep terror he felt as he stood in front of the Russian. Every single one of Lovino's hairs stood on end and his skin crawled. He had to actively fight to keep his legs from shaking and to prevent himself from collapsing to the floor and begging for his life. The hardest part, however, was maintaining eye contact with the taller man.

His eyes were really a quite lovely shade of violet-blue. They were bright and filled with a semblance of innocence. They were a calming color that blanketed Lovino in a sense of warmth and safety and the most paralyzing dread he had ever experienced in his short twenty-two years of life. The man's crystalline purple orbs trapped him in place and sucked out his will to live. Lovino could feel his exterior of composure deteriorating at an alarming rate when he reminded himself that he was allowed to blink, and the interruption of eye contacted settled him enough to remember why he was there and what he was supposed to be doing.

After what felt like hours of the two men merely gazing at each other, the Russian exhaled with a small sound that might have been a laugh. Lovino instinctively raised an eyebrow in confusion. "You, little one, remind me of someone that I have met before," Braginski told him simply, that tiny smile never wavering. Bile rose in the back of Lovino's throat.

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person," Lovino replied automatically, choosing not to comment on Braginski's last statement simply because he did not know _how_ to. He ignored the stiffness in his joints and the tension in his muscles.

"I could say the same to you as well." For a split second, Lovino was taken aback. This man was known as the Devil all across Europe, yet he seemed so incredibly polite and borderline _pleasant._

Lovino nodded. "So, I suppose we should start with discu―" He was promptly cut off.

"It has certainly been a while since I've met with a Vargas."

His heart stopped and did not beat again for an eternity.


	9. Stages of Fear

There are different levels of fear. There are your everyday, run-of-the-mill frights, such as when someone accidentally spooks you by rounding a corner unexpectedly or shouting when it had been previously quiet. This fear is mundane, inconsequential. It is forgotten immediately after the initial shock.

Then there is dread. You begin to expect something bad to happen, which sets your natural internalized paranoia to overdrive. Anything, anything at all, is enough to flood your body with adrenaline and prepare you to fight or flee.

Next comes terror, when you feel fear settle deep into your bones, the blood flowing through your veins, every atom of every cell in your body, the breath pounding in your lungs, the irregular beating of your heart, as you find yourself unable to move. This usually comes after your body decides against its fight-or-flight instinct and chooses a hidden third option, _freeze._

Finally, there is a type of fear most people will fail to experience in their lifetimes. It barely counts as fear at all, because it is a lack of it; it is simply _acceptance._ After your body stops listening to you and all forms of rational thought have fled your mind, there is nothing left to do but wait to die. You accept that there is no coming back from this sensation, and you pray that you'll be put out of your misery.

Which was _exactly_ what Lovino was feeling. His world spun and blacked out for a moment as his heart stopped beating. He stared blankly into Braginski's soulless eyes and barely came back to earth in time to prevent himself from collapsing. If Ivan's smile had been odd before, it was truly menacing now.

"P-Pardon?" was all Lovino managed to stutter out. He needed to get himself together. Acting like a terrified three-year-old wasn't going to save his ass, so he figured with what little rationality he had left that he'd better hurry up and figure out what he was going to do.

Braginski pouted a little. "I don't like to repeat myself, _Signor Vargas."_ Lovino drew in a breath to (hopefully) help clear his head a bit.

"Correct me if I'm mistaken, but is the Vargas family not centered around the very south of Italy?" he replied, neither accepting nor protesting the other man's use of his name. Flat-out lying to this guy seemed like a surefire way to die.

The Russian _chuckled._ "The Vargas family owns the entire country, little one. There may be other groups, but they do not have any true power. Although, I suppose, you already know this."

Lovino swallowed thickly. "I suppose the family does have complete control."

"It has been a while since I have met with your grandfather." It was inevitable. Dragging out his murder was cruel. Much more of this and he would have to just shot himself right there on the spot. "Nice man. So, tell me: why have you hijacked my meeting with the locals?"

He almost laughed. His mind was racing and his thoughts were in complete hysterics. It was now or never, he supposed. "Carriedo, show yourself, won't you?" he called. Their plan had completely been tossed out this window, so where was the harm in calling out the others?

Lovino had no idea where anyone had hidden themselves, so naturally, he wasn't expecting Antonio to walk out from behind a storage rack. He wasn't expecting Ivan to stare at the exact spot before the Spaniard revealed himself, either. The Italian could see fear similar to his own reflected in Antonio's green orbs as he stared right into Lovino's own eyes. "A pleasure to meet you," Antonio said, his voice surprisingly strong and confident.

Lovino honestly had no idea what he was doing. At this point, he had called Antonio out purely because he was struggling by himself. It seemed as if Ivan knew that there were others hidden around the room anyway, so all of their prior planning was now completely redundant. Ivan brought Lovino back from his thoughts when he frowned slightly. "Oh, I see," he said softly. "You want to capture me. That is not of proper courtesy on a first meeting."

Before Lovino even had the chance to think about what he could have done next, the rest of his men revealed themselves. They all had their guns trained on the tall blond figure in the center of the room, whose frown deepened. "My apologies, but you are the most infamous man in all of Europe. The Vargas family simply had to be the one to claim the honor of taking you prisoner," Lovino forced himself to explain. He honestly had no idea how Braginski could have possibly known that they had hijacked the local mafia's meeting, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

Then there was a gun in Braginski's hand. It wasn't there a moment before, and then it simply _was._ Lovino was thinking about how much the Russian truly lived up to his satanic nicknames as the barrel of the gun was lifted to his chest. Lovino was so consumed by his own mind that he could barely comprehend that Ivan was openly threatening his life. "If you can have extra men then I suppose I can too," Braginski told the Italian with a smirk. "Join us, _da?"_

And suddenly Ivan had as many men as Lovino did. The entire room was at a standstill, and Lovino's side was in checkmate. He could only glance from the gun up to the Russian's eyes and back again. Lovino was suddenly aware of the sound of his own breath and the beating of his heart. He would really miss the sound his heart made when he was inevitably shot.

In his periphery, he could see his cousin's gaze alternating between Lovino and the man of Ivan's whose gun was pointed at Sebastian. He grimaced, which really did not sit well on his handsome and innocent features. Antonio looked really conflicted as he held his gun to the temple of one man while another had the barrel of his gun aimed at the back of the Spaniard's head. Many similar situations were spread across the room.

Lovino cracked a smile. The entire situation seemed impossible. There was no feasible outcome in his favor. "I have so many questions," he said simply as one of his men shot at Ivan suddenly. Unfortunately, he missed, and begun the gunfight.

The previously silent room was then filled with the deafening sound of gunshots as they bounced off the walls and echoed around in Lovino's ears. Men were falling on both sides, and he saw some of the Italians begin to flee. The plain, dusty room was quickly embellished with the deep crimson color of blood and the strange grey-pink shade of brain matter. He noticed that Antonio had broken out of his stalemate and seemed like he was coming towards him. A bullet grazed Ivan's cheek and his sinister smile widened.

Before his Spanish ally had the chance to raise his gun to the Russian, the trigger had been squeezed. Lovino would have burst into hysterical laughter if he hadn't been too busy having a bullet put through his chest.

It probably hurt a lot, but Lovino didn't really feel any pain for longer than a heartbeat and he didn't remember when he had started staring at the ceiling or when the world started turning black.


	10. Ouch

It smelled like death. Not like death and decay, but definitely like a sterile sort of passing; the kind of stench you'd find outside a dying patient's hospital room. It smelled something like that, though he supposed if he was smelling the overly clean odor of a hospital, he wasn't dead. He couldn't quite gather the strength to open his eyes, but he was becoming increasingly more aware of his surroundings.

He heard the faint beeping of some machine or other and the voices of people outside his room. His mouth was dry and he was kind of thirsty. At first he recognized a dull ache throughout his entire body, but at the first large breath he inhaled, an extremely sharp pain stabbed at his chest. He ground his teeth and concluded that, yes, unfortunately, he was alive.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed like that, in that strange state of semi-consciousness, but soon enough, the itchiness of his throat was too overbearing for him to ignore. His eyes peeled open painstakingly slowly, his vision immediately flooded with the obnoxious whiteness of the room. The artificial lights stabbed at his tired eyes, forcing him to squint as he glanced around. The room was completely empty. He sighed heavily and regretted it immediately as yet another pain struck him in the chest. That's where he was shot, he figured, as he noticed someone walk past the room.

To his dismay, it was that green-eyed _fucker,_ Antonio, who took a double-take when he saw Lovino awake. He immediately broke out in a ridiculous, sparkly grin, to which Lovino rolled his eyes. Antonio walked over to stand right by Lovino's bed, his stupid smile never faltering. "Hello, Lovino. It's very nice to see you awake," the Spaniard remarked softly.

Lovino tried to snap back some witty reply, but he found that his throat was scratchy and sore and generally did not want to make any noise. Antonio chuckled slightly, resting his hands on the bar on the side of the hospital bed. "You shouldn't talk right now. I'm sure you're still in a considerable amount of pain." The Italian managed a small nod. "I am sure you have many questions."

He nodded again. "We'll explain after I go tell your Grandpa that you are awake." At this, Lovino's eyes widened. He summoned all the strength he had to reach out and grasp Antonio's wrist as the Spaniard made to leave. When Antonio raised an eyebrow in confusion, all Lovino could do was shake his head violently, which he regretted doing as soon as he began to see stars.

Lovino had failed his Grandpa on so many different levels. His voice declaring his trust in Lovino echoed around in his head, and Lovino was not quite ready to deal with that. He glanced away from Antonio for a split second before looking back. He tugged on his wrist to show that he shouldn't leave, and luckily Antonio got the message. "Would you like me to just explain now?" he asked, smiling softly. Lovino nodded.

"Well, as you know, Ivan Braginski was holding a gun to your chest. For a while it seemed like he was simply threating you, but as soon as our men started turning their fire towards him, quite stupidly, I might add, he figured that all bets were off. I had finally gotten away from my own stalemate, but I did not get out in time to stop Ivan. By the time I had raised my own gun against him, he had already shot you." He laughed humorlessly. "I suppose it was my fault Ivan got away." Lovino raised an eyebrow. After all that, it truly had been for absolutely nothing? "Instead of shooting Ivan back, I ignored him in favor of making sure you were still alive. A few seconds after I made sure you were still alive, it occurred to me that I should do something about Ivan, but when I turned around, he was already gone. I have no idea why he didn't kill me, but I suppose I am lucky in that aspect."

Lovino exhaled. Their mission had failed in more ways than one, making it almost difficult to comprehend. At least he was alive, as was Antonio, although he supposed dying wouldn't have been too horrible. A thought suddenly occurred to him as he rapidly slapped Antonio's hand, confusing the Spaniard once more.

"Hmm? What is it, Lovino?" Lovino gestured wildly with his hand, trying desperately to ask the question now taking complete control over his thoughts. His movements seem to only confuse Antonio further, adding to Lovino's frustration. It seemed like he had no other choice.

It was excruciating, but Lovino forced himself to form words. His voice was more than raspy, but he made sound, and that was what really mattered. "Hey, um, who–" he cut off for a moment to cough, which hurt way more than breathing did, although he pushed past the feeling of a hole tearing through his chest. "–who…didn't make it out?"

Antonio's expression darkened and the light drained from his eyes. "Unfortunately, not many were as fortunate as I." He drew in a deep breath before answering. "Your man Alfonso and many others. Quite a few of Sebastian's men as well, although, thank god, your cousin did survive."

Lovino nodded and managed a weak smile in thanks. He was truly sorry to hear about the death of Alfonso; he was a good man who had worked for his Grandpa for as long as Lovino could remember. He didn't even want to know who else did not return. The longer he was awake, the more it felt like he was in a dream.

"I am sorry for the loss of your men," Antonio added. The two were both quiet for a while before the Spaniard spoke up once more. "Would you like for me to go tell your Grandpa that you are awake now?"

After a few seconds of thought, Lovino figured fuck it. He nodded.


	11. No Babysitter, Please

For once, Lovino had nothing to say. The already immense pressure on his chest only intensified as he waited for Antonio to return with his Grandpa. Countless scenarios played out in his head, really not helping his anxiety in the slightest, and he prayed to whatever god who may or may not be out there that his Grandpa won't kill him. Although, on second thought, death might not be so bad. He _had_ royally messed up their shot at capturing the single most wanted man in the entire European underground crime community.

The thought made him sigh, and this time he ignored the searing pain in his torso because nothing was worse than his own mental torture. He wasn't sure if Antonio was gone for five minutes or five hours, but it seemed like an eternity had passed when the Spaniard finally returned with Lovino's Grandpa. He stared at the ceiling.

For a long minute, no one said anything. Lovino wasn't really sure he was _able_ to talk, and it seemed as if Roma had no intention of speaking. Surprisingly, the person to break the heavy silence was Antonio, who excused himself and promptly ducked out of the room. Roma watched him leave, and when his footsteps finally faded out of earshot, he turned to his grandson. _"Buongiorno,_ Lovino," said the older man.

Lovino swallowed and tried to respond, but his voice really only came out as a raspy breath, so he mouthed a greeting back and pretended like he wasn't scared out of his mind. He loved his Grandpa, of course he did, but that didn't change his Grandpa's status as his superior. The needs of the Family came before the needs of actual family members; it was a core rule of the organization. It had been etched into his heart, drilled into his brain, repeated to him for as long as he could remember. Lovino had fucked up and he couldn't change that. Roma said that he trusted Lovino to complete his task, and he had failed him.

"So," Roma started. "Ivan Braginski escaped." Lovino nodded hesitantly. His Grandpa's face held no expression. His amber eyes were cold and distant. "I thought that you could complete the mission, Lovino." His voice portrayed no emotion.

Lovino looked away. He never liked his Grandpa's business face. He shouldn't expect anything less; even though he was actual family, he was still Roma's subordinate. Regardless, a small part of him wished that the older Italian would show a bit of sympathy for his bed-ridden grandson.

"Antonio explained to me what happened. How you did you let Braginski find out about your plan?" Lovino recognized the spark in his Grandpa's eyes as quiet anger, elevating Lovino's heartrate just slightly. He swallowed, coughing a little.

"I-I have no idea," Lovino whispered. "We thought over the strategy for hours." His throat burned but he needed to explain. "I don't understand how he could have seen through our plan."

Roma only sighed. "We're going to have to start all over. This might have been the only chance we had." Lovino wanted to die. More than usual, anyway. Roma looked his grandson up and down. "Once you're better, you're back on this case."

Lovino choked. "B-but–

"You may have let me down, but I believe that you can do this. If you're going to take over for me one day, you need to get better at the job. As soon as you've recovered enough, you're going to continue the search for Braginski, since we have lost him yet again."

He resigned himself to the job. It wasn't like he could've argued, anyway. "Yes, sir," Lovino muttered.

Suddenly, Roma smiled. "I'm glad that you're alive, Lovino!" Lovino raised an eyebrow at the sudden change in demeanor, although he wasn't complaining. "To survive a shot to the chest at such close range, and from Ivan Braginski? He must not have wanted you to die."

Lovino narrowed his eyes. "So comforting, _Nonno."_

His Grandpa merely chuckled. "Ah, sorry. I am truly very happy to see you awake. You were out for quite a while, and you gave us quite a few scares." His eyes sparkled. "If it wasn't for the Spaniard, you probably wouldn't be here at all, so I'm grateful."

He didn't really want to owe anything to the Spanish bastard, but he supposed he was pretty glad that Antonio had helped him. "I guess."

Roma chuckled once more. "If he had just left you there…" He trailed off, his eyes darkening once more, yet his smile never faded. "There would probably have been an unplanned murder. I wonder if there are any good places to hide bodies in Vallebona…?"

The two Italians heard a sputter from the door. Lovino looked up to see Antonio coughing awkwardly into his hand. A nervous smile crept onto the Spaniard's face, slowly walking further into the room. "I came back to tell you that Feliciano is here…" he explained quietly, eyeing Roma with caution.

"Antonio, you _are_ interested in forming an alliance with us, yes?" Roma inquired hastily.

"May I ask why you are asking?" Antonio replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Because if that is the case, which I sincerely hope it is, you can start this alliance by taking care of Lovino while I reconstruct the search for Ivan Braginski."

Lovino shook his head, but he was ignored by both other men. He really didn't want to spend any more time with the stupid Spaniard than he had to, but apparently no one cared to ask for his input, even though he was the true victim in this situation.

Antonio's green eyes clouded with thought. Lovino could practically see the gears turning in his mind as he worked out whether or not he could afford to be away from Spain any longer. After a few moments of quiet consideration, he nodded. "Alright. I can stay." He flashed Lovino a bright smile. "Under the condition that Spain assists in the capture of Ivan Braginski once more?"

Roma nodded. "It will be a strong start to a strong alliance."

Antonio nodded. "Then it is a deal." Lovino's Grandpa held out his hand, and Antonio shook it. "Excuse me, I have to make a few calls." The Antonio disappeared again.

Lovino huffed once the green-eyed man left. "What if I don't want him to babysit me?" he snapped.

Roma crossed his arms. "Play nice, even so. Spain is an up-and-coming force to be reckoned with, and this man is the king of the realm. It can only be advantageous to have a positive relationship with him."

"Fucker's too happy," he muttered.

"Language, Lovino."


	12. Hospital Gown be Damned

Being stuck in a hospital sucked ass. It would suck for anyone, but it really sucked for Lovino. He had a bullet hole in his chest, a silently angry Grandpa, a ridiculous task ahead of him, and a very cheerful Spanish babysitter.

Lovino would prefer a silent room where he could be left to wallow in his self-pity all alone, but obviously Antonio planned to fulfil his promise to Roma as thoroughly as possible. Currently, the smiling bastard was setting up a game of Scrabble, without input or opinion from Lovino.

The Spaniard had stayed with him for as long as visiting hours would allow every day for the past week. Lovino kept waiting for Antonio to give up the happy façade and get tired of his shit like everyone else did, but he seemed to be genuinely happy to stay with him. Regardless of how it looked, Lovino knew that he was the head of the Spanish mafia and that everyone in the business tends to be incredibly two-faced. Surely the green-eyed Spaniard was hiding something.

"Would you like to go first, Lovi?" Antonio asked gently, his eyes sparkling. Lovino glared at the game board and crossed his arms.

"I told you not to call me that," he grumbled irritably, looking over his game pieces quickly.

Antonio pouted childishly as Lovino played. "I think it suits you."

"I didn't really ask for your opinion."

Surprisingly, instead of being offended, Antonio laughed. "Well, I gave you my opinion anyway."

Lovino rolled his eyes and silently prayed to whatever gods that may be out there that he could recover faster. He didn't want to spend any longer in the hellhole than he had to.

* * *

The fucker seemed to really enjoy being around Lovino. Lovino's family had returned home weeks ago, which upset Lovino just slightly; they had left him alone with a stranger, but Antonio didn't seem to have any problem taking care of Lovino. He was glad to finally get out of the stupid hospital bed, and Antonio seemed almost more excited than Lovino was.

As soon as the doctor said that Lovnio could try to stand up, he swung his legs over the edge of his bed. Hospital gown be damned, he set his bare feet on the cold tile of the room and pushed himself up, and immediately found himself face-to-chest with Antonio. Lovino was _beyond_ embarrassed to have fallen, but the Spaniard only laughed.

He was more than happy to carefully wrap his arms around Lovino's middle and set him back on the bed, whereas Lovino pretty much wanted to die. He had felt his face heat up and he remembered Antonio making some lighthearted remark about him looking like a tomato while Lovino just pulled his sheets up over his face.

* * *

The first time Lovino was managed to take actual steps, Antonio's eyes lit up as Lovino smiled despite himself. He actually allowed himself to be hugged when he crossed the room without stumbling. They shared a laugh, but all Lovino could really think about was that this meant that he'd have to get back on his Grandpa's task soon.

Antonio helped steady Lovino as he made tentative laps around the hospital corridors. He was secretly glad that he was there, just as he was secretly devastated that neither his Grandpa nor his brother were there to encourage him. He couldn't really blame them; he knew that they had bigger priorities and really had no reason to stay since Lovino was going to be alright, but he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed.

* * *

A few nights before Lovino was due back to his own little hometown, he finally broke down and confided in Antonio. "I really don't want to," was all he said at first.

The sun had already gone down and the moon was shining in through the window, casting strange shadows around the hospital room. Antonio glanced up at Lovino from where he had been reading a book. "What do you mean?"

Lovino stared down at his hands, folded neatly in his lap. "I don't want to go back," he whispered quietly.

At this, Antonio chuckled softly. "No one wants to go back," he said softly.

"No!" Lovino's head shot up. "You don't understand. You don't have anyone to disappoint. You're at the top in your own empire. Grandpa Roma trusts me. He actually thinks I can do this. If I couldn't before…h-how does he expect me to do it now…?"

Antonio blinked at him blankly. He frowned softly. Lovino realized immediately that what he said made no sense, because since Antonio was at the top that meant that he could disappoint _everybody,_ but at the moment he pushed back the little voice in his head that told him that he was wrong as always. He had started talking and he wasn't going to stop, anyways.

"I fucking hate this," he admitted. Lovino returned his gaze to his lap, staring at his hands which nervously laced and unlaced. "I don't want to look for Ivan Braginski. I don't want to try and capture him. I don't want to leave my house."

Antonio was uncharacteristically quiet.

"I don't want to be a part of fucking any of this."

Silence.

"I'm so _goddam_ tired of being scared all the time."

Alarmingly, Lovino felt tears rising. He didn't want to be saying anything. He wished his mouth would lock up and he would stop talking. He wished his voice would give out. He wished he were anywhere else.

"I don't want to do this."

"No one wants to, Lovino," Antonio said suddenly.

Lovino sniffed and quickly wiped his eyes. He met Antonio's gaze and was surprised to see a soft smile.

"No one blames you. It is a horrible life." Antonio glanced out the window and chuckled. "There is nothing you can do about it, though. We are stuck like this."

"Yeah, well, that's fucking shit."

"Maybe. But since we have no choice, we might as well do what we must to the best of our abilities."

"I guess."

Antonio turned back to smile at Lovino again. "I look forward to working with you again."

Lovino managed a smile.


	13. Home Again

As soon as Lovino stared up at the bright, magnificent, ridiculously expensive, unfortunately _familiar_ house, his stomach demanded that he unhave his lunch. He swallowed thickly, feeling the muscles contract and release in his throat before he made himself stride up to his own front door, unlock it, and step inside.

Almost immediately, he was bombarded by his little brother's greetings and hugs and smiles and overall pleasantness that only added to Lovino's unease. He managed to shove him off with a forced smile and a promise of a game of football later, but Lovino was only spitting out empty agreements as he focused on his Grandpa. The man's amber eyes seemed to bore into his soul and force his guilt to resurface, but that didn't stop the older Italian's outwardly friendly façade. " _Buongiorno, Nonno,"_ Lovino started, although his voice sounded raspy, even to him.

Roma hugged him briefly and the action set the younger's blood on fire, although he maintained his smile. "I'm glad to see you're feeling better," Roma responded coolly. "How's that hole in your chest?"

A small chuckle escaped Lovino's lips as he subconsciously brushed his fingertips over the spot where Ivan Branginski's bullet had pierced him. "It's not really a hole anymore, fortunately. Thanks for asking." His voice sounded hollow and the sound echoed around in his head.

Lovino was praying that perhaps, just for a day, all matters of work could be set aside, but his hopes were shot down with the guns which ended his team's lives as his Grandpa spoke the words he'd been dreading the entire train ride home. "Now that you're home, I say it's about time to get back to business, no?"

"Of course. We've waited too long as it is," came the robotic response. Lovino surprised himself; his psyche was curled up in the darkest corner of his mind crying itself to sleep, and he found himself thankful that his subconscious had somehow remembered the right things to say.

"Unfortunately, we will need to build you a new team. Your last one has, ah, been… _disbanded_ ," Roma told him with an edge to his voice and a darkness in his eyes. Lovino glanced away and nodded silently. "Fortunately, I have a solution," he added in a singsongy voice as he grabbed Lovino by the wrist and dragged him down a hallway. He heard noise coming from the den as they approached, and a heavy weight settled in the young Italian's stomach.

Roma pushed open the doors to the den, revealing a smiling blond sitting on one of the couches. He stood as Roma entered the room, but his bright eyes and overly cheery smile quickly shifted to Lovino. He pushed down the urge to scowl, but he couldn't stop his arms from automatically crossing themselves.

"Lovino, this is Mr. Alfred F. Jones. He's one of our good friends in New York, and he has been searching for Braginski for a while now. He's here to help you find and capture our friendly Russian. I trust you two will be able to work together smoothly, yes?" Roma smiled at Lovino easily, but his grandson was just as easily able to detect the warning in his voice.

"Of course, _Nonno."_ His affirmation paid his personal opinion no attention as he looked the blond over. He looked okay enough, although the persisting smile and excitement in his eyes were starting to make Lovino a little uneasy. Slowly, cautiously even, Lovino stretched his hand out and painted on a fake smile. "Glad to have your help, Mr. Jones."

The American shook it. "Pleasure to be here," Alfred responded in an accent too foreign and in a voice too loud. Lovino didn't like him already.

* * *

Alfred dined with them that evening, and that was where Lovino was brought up to speed on all that had happened while he was in the hospital. Ivan Braginski had, predictably, dropped off the face of the earth, but Alfred had called in a favor with someone he knew in Japan who knew his way around computers and had managed to hack into what sounded like the entire country of Italy and, astonishingly, located the Russian. Or, a trace of him, at least. The man had supposedly hung around in north Italy for a while before going back east.

According to Alfred's predictions, he should be somewhere in southeast Poland. It appeared he was headed to Belarus, where (according to rumor) his little sister had been wreaking havoc for a while. It seemed that Braginski was planning to meet her there, although that came off as a little too predictable for Lovino's taste, although it _was_ something to go off of.

As long as they were able to anticipate Braginski's plan of travel, they were one step ahead of him, although Lovino wasn't really sure that was true; they had been several steps ahead of him in Vallebona and he had slaughtered nearly everyone in the room. Hell, he himself had gotten shot, and Braginski wasn't stupid; he knew the entire world had placed a target on his back and was dangling a bounty over his head, and he certainly knew that Italy would be gunning for him with a renewed vigor.

Lovino went quiet as he thought over Ivan's actions. Natalya Arlovskaya was known to be a bit of a wild card, for lack of a better description. She wasn't quite outcast from her family as Ivan was, but she definitely was not regarded warmly by the Braginskis. Tales of her dismemberment of woodland creatures as a small child and her cruel interrogation tactics spread throughout Europe, and not just in the underground crime community; Lovino remembered hearing a story of corpses being uncovered somewhere in west Russia with a bloody message declaring them "for Big Brother," which was a signature of Arlovskaya's. Shivers raced down his spine when he thought of meeting her; Braginksi may be scary, but at least he puts on a face ―his younger sister was a classic psychopath. Put the two together? He couldn't bring himself to think about it.

He sighed as he realized he wouldn't be sleeping that night. Conversation gradually drifted away from Braginski as all the known information was relayed to Lovino. He listened absently to Alfred and his Grandpa chat about the picturesque views of the Italian countryside and found himself wishing he were back in his hospital bed. There he didn't have to think about the hunt for Braginski and he had a friendly Spanish idiot to keep him company. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and excused himself, hoping to manage some semblance of sleep.


End file.
